


Fill this Silence and Farewell

by OneforSorrowTwoforMirth



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Guilty Tony Stark, Hurt Tony Stark, Nebula & Tony Stark Friendship, Nebula Feels (Marvel), Nebula Has Issues (Marvel), Nebula and Tony bond in space, Survivor Guilt, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark in space, disassociating into the void, is it too late for an endgame fic?, probably!, right before endgame starts, stuck on Quill's ship, stuffing that truama away to ferment like fine wine, that movie hurt me ok?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:21:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26005627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneforSorrowTwoforMirth/pseuds/OneforSorrowTwoforMirth
Summary: Adrift in space, confronted with an awful silence, Tony Stark has a sole, unlikely ally: Nebulaset between Infinity War and Endgame
Kudos: 4





	1. Day 3

**Author's Note:**

> "Tell me a piece of your history  
> That you've never said out loud  
> Pull the rug beneath my feet  
> And shake me to the ground  
> Break the silence open wide  
> Before it seeps into my ears  
> And fills me up from the inside"
> 
> \- The Silence, Bastille

Tony had never liked silence. Pepper teased him about it, joking that he made all his AIs tolerate his bullshit with witty banter so he’d have someone to rattle off nonsense to. 

She was right of course. She was always right. 

But there was something more than discomfort in this silence. A profound emptiness that Tony feared he would fall into forever. Every time he looked out the window of the ship into the abyss of space, all he could think of was staring at that same abyss as he fell, suit dead, toward New York City six years ago, knowing he’d give up ten Earths just to tell Pepper he loved her one more time. 

She’d told him not to go, dammit. She told him not to go so many times and she was always right. At least all those other times he managed to stick a crash landing. But this time...he wasn’t so sure. Ever since he took a fistful of shrapnel to the heart, he’d been living on one long streak of dumb luck. He knew it would run out eventually, yet he always pushed it. 

Even if he did pull off some stupid stunt and get out of this alive, would she still be there? Or would she be nothing but a pile of dust?

The thought alone threatened to crush him. 

He took a shaky breath and gripped the top of his helmet beside him. It was badly beat up. They’d stripped off a few of the parts to try and repair the ship. So far, it wasn’t working. They hadn’t gotten more than a few lightyears away before the thing died. He’d tried to fix it, halfheartedly, knowing that there wasn’t much to be done. 

Tony felt along the side of the helmet for the recording button. It still worked. He pressed it. He needed to fill the silence. He cleared his throat, 

“Um, hi. Pep. At least I hope it’s you seeing this. Would be kinda awkward if it wasn’t. I’m not in the best shape, as you can tell,” he grimaced, “And I make it a point to let only you see me like this. You know. Tired and ugly as hell,” he tried to smile, “I just want you to know that I’m doing my best to get back to you. Really. I just - I just hope you’re ok. Tell Happy he better have a cheeseburger waiting for me. Love you.” He turned it off again, then seconds later deleted the recording. It didn't feel right. Though, he supposed nothing would.

His vision grew blurry and he took a shaky breath, squeezing his eyes closed. He hadn’t cried yet. He was afraid if he let himself start, he wouldn’t be able to stop. Luckily, he had plenty to distract him. 

Like the giant gash on his stomach that he’d patched up in a hurry and hadn’t had the courage to take a proper look at yet. He felt it carefully beneath his shirt. He needed to do something about it. Not that he really knew how or had the tools. Friday could’ve given him some suggestions. If she was around. 

“Who were you speaking to?”

The harsh voice made him jump. “Jesus, Smurfette. Don’t _do_ that, my heart is failing as it is.”

The girl moved out of the shadows.“Did you make contact with someone?” 

“No. I was just leaving a message. You know. In case I don’t make it back.”

She looked down. They both knew, though they didn’t say it. The oxygen they had would only last thirty days, if they were lucky. And Tony was pretty sure his dumb luck was at its end. She started to turn away. 

“Did you make any progress on the power cells?” he asked.

“If I had, we wouldn’t be floating helplessly in deep space,” she growled. 

He shrugged as she silently stalked away. They hadn’t spoken much, getting the ship ready and trying desperately to fly it. Had it only been two days ago? It felt like years. The only thing he got out of her was her name, Nebula, and that she was pretty good with tech. Which was a relief, because while he felt fairly proud of what he had managed to figure out, there was a lot that he didn’t understand. This kid - he felt sure she was fairly young - was confusing, as silent as Peter was talkative.

Peter. 

**_Mr. Stark, I don’t feel so good._ **

_No. Stop._

_**Terror in his eyes as he grabbed at Tony’s arm, like he felt it coming.** _

_Need to go, get out of here, can’t think about that -_

_I **don’t wanna go -**_

_STOP_

Tony stumbled to his feet and in the direction Nebula had gone. His breathing was getting shallow. He needed to be away from that window. Now.

She was sitting in what he took to be some kind of common area den space. It was littered with dirty laundry and tacky Earth memorabilia. They’d thrown out a lot but he hadn’t had much time to look in here. Their meager food supplies were scattered across the table. Nebula was holding something. It looked like a hairbrush, but Tony wondered if that was a correct assessment since she didn’t need it. Nebula didn’t seem the sort to keep anything impractical. 

But the way she held it...Tony recognized the grief. 

“What’s the story?” he asked, pointing to it.

Nebula set it down as if surprised to find she was holding it at all. “It was my sister’s.” 

“Your sister...that’s Gamora, right? Sorry, just that introductions got a little rushed, what with your dad dropping a moon on us. I’m still trying to catch up.” 

“Yes. Gamora.” Terse. Angry? Maybe just annoyed? God, she was hard to read. 

“So, uh,” he cleared his throat, unsure how to phrase the question delicately, “Thanos is your...father? Like, that’s what I’ve gathered but I’m confused about how that. Uh. Works, exactly.” 

Nebula didn’t answer for a few seconds. She stood, turning her back to Tony. Then she said, “No one gets a choice in who their father is. I got no choice in my birth father, and I got no choice when Thanos took me away from him. Neither did the rest of my siblings.” 

Tony let out a low whistle. “Well. That’s pretty shit.” 

“Yes. It is.” Another silence passed over the ship so deep that Tony felt it pressing on his chest. Just when he was about to ask a stupid question just to break the silence, Nebula stood up and disappeared into the back of the ship.

Tony was starting to feel the dull aching throb of his wound grow more insistent. He took off his jacket and lifted his shirt. 

_Yep. Should’ve checked sooner._

It was starting to look infected. Some streaks of red were reaching like fingers from the wound towards his chest. Might explain why he was feeling feverish. He was so used to his suit telling him the status of injuries he hadn’t noticed. 

_Damn. Wish I’d paid more attention when Rhodey tried to teach me basic field medicine._

Thinking of Rhodey sent a fresh wave of guilt through him. He hadn't said goodbye to him. Hadn't even told him where he was going. Tony quickly began reciting the periodic table in his head, trying to push thoughts of his best (and often only) friend aside, but didn’t get past the A-1 metals before Nebula slammed a metal case onto the table.

He jumped. “Ok, I have no idea what I’m looking at here. What is this?” 

“Medical supplies. You are wounded.” There were an assortment of packets, bottles, swabs, and prods and things that he thought he could guess the function of, but all of it was so alien he couldn't be sure. Nebula told him in as few words as possible to let her take a look. One of her cyborg eyes roved over him as if scanning. 

“This wound,” she jabbed him in the stomach, “Is the one needing the most attention.” 

“Ow! Ok, hands off, baldie. I figured that one, funny enough.” 

“Shut up,” she snapped. She ran her finger over the wound like he was a machine she was analyzing, trying to decide which parts to replace, “What did you do to close it?”

“I sealed it with some of the nano thingies. The stuff I used to patch the hull.”

Nebula examined it grimly, but said nothing.

“You got a syringe?” He asked.

She dug around in the kit and handed one to him. He glanced down at his stomach again, trying to remember if the wound had to be open or closed to try this method of drawing out the infection. Then again, the infection had probably spread enough that he’d have to open it anyway to drain it. 

“What will you do with it?” she asked.

“Nothing yet. First I need to reopen the wound. But there’s nothing I have that can break the seal. I’d need a laser or something.”

Without a change of expression, she tapped her left eye and said, “I am equipped with a laser.”

“What?” He tried to sit up.

“I can open it.”

“You know, I think I might try the closed method first.”

She tilted her head slightly, “I don’t understand, you said you needed to open the wound.” 

“Well, um, yes. I did. It’s just that everything I’ve seen you do with your, uh, robot stuff has been, you know. Murdery.”

“Lay perfectly still,” she commanded, raising a finger to the side of her head. 

“Ok, ok,” Tony lay back and closed his eyes. He didn’t feel anything for a few seconds. Then intense pain flared in his chest and all he could do was gasp. 

“There.” 

Nebula had cut a perfectly straight line through the seal and had partially cauterized the wound. The part she hadn’t gotten began to ooze blood and something that was probably pus. He pressed his hand to it, trying to get his breath back.

“Right. So now’s the part where you fill the syringe with saline - is it saline? Pretty sure it’s saline. I need to flush the wound. I think there’s probably supposed to be an IV catheter or something to help it go deep but that doesn’t matter.” 

Nebula didn’t respond. She stared at the gash with a strange expression.

“Hey. Smurfette.” Blood trickled between his fingers. She didn’t move. “I’d really love it if you stopped staring at me like you’re contemplating how to best remove my organs.” 

“You're bleeding,” she murmured.

_Ok?_

She was creeping him out. A lot. 

“You don't bleed...right? Since, you know," he gestured vaguely to her mechanical hand and eye. 

“I wasn’t always.” Nebula turned away, filling the syringe. He reached for it, but she hesitated. 

“What?” 

“Your hands. They are shaking.” 

“No they aren’t.” But even as he protested, he knew that was a lie. “Just give me the syringe.”

“You should not be the one to do this.”

“Yeah,” he looked at it again. “You’re probably right. Here.” He pointed to a place just to the side of the wound where most of the blood seemed to be coming from. “Put it there and flush it slowly.” 

When she was done, she took something else from the med kit and pressed it against the wound. A bandage, he realized. Probably a better solution than sealing it completely.

He sat up with an involuntary groan, chest still burning. “Thanks, Smurfette.” 

“Why do you call me this?” 

“What?” he scratched the back of his head, “Oh. Nickname, sorry. Force of habit.” She looked confused but said nothing else. “Suppose I should sleep? It’s been a while since I did that.”

“Sleep, then,” Nebula said, “There are bunks back there.” 

“And I’m guessing you don’t need that kind of thing? Sleep?” 

“No. I don’t.” 

Tony shrugged and slowly got to his feet. Painkillers would be nice. His suit had a few emergency injections, but he’d used them all yesterday. He didn’t go to the bunks. He went back to the galley, where he’d left his helmet, near the pilot’s seat. Looking into the awful silence of space. 

He lay down on the ground, flat on his back, turning his head to look out the window. He knew he wouldn’t sleep. The burning in his chest wasn’t going away and everything else ached from the beating he’d taken.

In the silence, the voices were a dull rumble in the back of his mind. He didn’t need to listen hard. He already knew what they were saying. 

**_Tony, tell me you are not on that ship._ **

_No more surprises._

_What if we lose?_

**_We’ll do that together, too._ **

**_This suit is, like, super intuitive so if anything it’s kinda your fault._ **

**_It was the only way, Tony._ **

**_Mr. Stark, please - I don’t wanna go - I don’t wanna go -_ **

**_Take off the suit and what are you?_ **

He knew the answer to that now. He was helpless. He was nothing. 


	2. Day 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Tell me a piece of your history  
> That you're proud to call your own  
> Speak in words you picked up  
> As you walked through life alone"
> 
> \- The Silence by Bastille

Traveling the haunting stillness of space was the only silence Nebula had been allowed growing up at her father’s mercy. Most of the time it had offered no solace, only time to be trapped with her own screaming, painful consciousness. The silence had allowed her anger to boil over, to fill her. But once or twice she remembered getting so lost in the endless infinity, falling down into nothingness, she’d experienced something she thought might be peace. Existence was pain, perhaps ceasing to exist was the key to peace. Yet something about that had never sat right with her. 

She sat in the galley, in the seat her sister used to favor on this disgusting ship staring out the window. The void held no peace for her now, only flashes of her sister, holding out her hand even though she knew Nebula would slap it away. She had accused Gamora of turning a blind eye to her suffering, always winning the competition even though it would cost Nebula dearly. That had been true. And yet there had also been times when Gamora had stood between her and their father. Not that it ever did either of them any good. 

No, there was no peace in the silence that threatened to crush the ship with its vastness. There was nothing save for the dead air reminding her just how alone she was. And would be. Forever. 

Nebula felt within herself, hoping to find that old brimming urge for revenge. She felt for the terrible rage that would let her dream of the things she’d do to her father once she got him, giving her something to cling to. But if she was honest, those fantasies of revenge had never offered her any real anchor. 

The truth was, she’d never expected to exact revenge. She’d always expected to die before she could. She’d _hoped_ she’d die. 

Her wrist throbbed sharply and she became aware that her head still hurt from the blows she’d taken on Titan. She ran her finger over the missing piece on her head. 

A whimper from the back made her jump. 

The terran. Tony Stark. 

Nebula heard him give a violent gasp, followed by shallow breathing that she thought meant he was awake. He didn’t sleep much anyway with the fever. Silence returned. Then some rustling and then she heard him begin talking quietly. She stood up, suddenly curious. She edged out the galley toward the bunks. She could see the dim light from his battered helmet that meant he was recording again. 

He’d done it every day though he kept deleting each one. She started to make out words. 

“Pep…” his voice was just as faint as it had been yesterday. “You know, I think space is pretty overrated, as a whole. I mean, if you’ve seen one patch of nothing you’ve seen it all. Thought the scenery would be a little more varied. I give it pretty low ratings as far as tourism goes. Maybe I’d enjoy it if I wasn’t more or less delusional from this fever. I dunno.” Nebula came a few steps closer and from this angle could see Tony’s profile, blanket draped across his shoulders. He wiped his face with a shaking hand. “Robocop won’t say it but I’m pretty sure I’m getting worse.” 

Nebula was fairly certain Robocop meant her. He kept using ‘nicknames.’ She felt like he was trying to get a reaction out of her, but all it did was confuse her.

He was right, though. He was getting worse. The fever hadn’t gone down. The infection, while not spreading rampantly, was still not disappearing. 

“I’ll be ok,” he said, “I’m...oh God. I’m scared, Pepper. I’m -” he flipped off the recording, deleting it once again. He drew his knees up to his chest. “Oh God," he whispered, "I’m scared.” 

Nebula drew back, uncomfortable at the sight. 

“Hey Robocop,” he said after a moment, “I know you’re there.”

She stepped forward, “What?” 

“I don’t suppose we have any water?” 

They didn’t have any to spare, but she gave him some anyway. She handed it to him, then sat down a few feet away. He spilled most of it down his shirt thanks to the feverish tremor in his hands. Cursing, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You know,” he said quietly, “I always said I wanted to protect the world. I was even arrogant enough to think I could protect the people I loved. But sometimes I think...it was because I hated to lose. Because I hated to lose to the heroes and gods who could do it better than me.” 

Nebula looked up from inspecting her wrist and fixed him with a look, “And you can’t be weak, so you tear yourself apart,” she said, voice harsh, “But the shadows of the gods and heroes are so large no one sees you destroying yourself to just be _strong_ enough.” 

Tony didn’t look at her but gave a quick jerky nod. 

“My father,” Nebula said, “Would remove another part of me and say he had to because I wasn’t strong. That the machinery he replaced it with was what would make me strong. That if only I would surrender my soul to be made mechanical, I would finally be as strong as my sister. But it never made me strong. It only made it hurt more when I lost.”

Tony looked at her, “You mean he made you like that?” 

“Yes.” 

He said nothing. There was nothing to say. Only time to sit in their failure that tasted twice as bitter now that it was shared. 

So they sat in the indifferent silence

Eventually, Tony slumped back into sleep. Nebula hauled him into the bunk then after considering him for a moment, went to find the syringe to flush the wound. The cold, computer-like voice in her mind stated once again that continuing to administer medical care was a waste of time and resource. Even if he did manage to get over the infection, they’d run out of oxygen in less than a month. 

She didn’t need air. She didn’t even need to eat or drink that much. She would survive. It was perhaps the cruelest thing Thanos had done to her.

Nebula ignored that cold voice and tended to Tony’s injury, hands steady. As she put the med kit back in the common space, her eyes fell on the hairbrush. She’d left it on the table. 

Nebula had been jealous of Gamora’s beautiful hair when they were children. She’d wanted to brush it and braid it and curl it but, of course, never did. Instead she let resentment at yet another thing her sister had that she didn’t burn, until one day she’d tried to chop it off. Gamora had never understood why. _It’s just hair!_ She’d screamed, pinning Nebula to the ground. Gamora didn’t think about her physical appearance much because she didn’t have to. She had never been acutely aware of every appendage, nerve ending, piece of skin, and joint or lack thereof the way Nebula was. 

No. Gamora had her beat in every category. Always in first place. 

**_You were the one who always wanted to win, when I just wanted a sister!_ **

Nebula felt a spark of anger return and she clenched her fist. 

_Why?_ _**Why** did I finally get you free of conditions and then you had to die? I would stand in your shadow gladly _ **_if only I could have you back_ ** _._

She collapsed at the table, knees suddenly weak. She ignored the brush and mechanically organized their rations for the fifth or sixth time. 

She’d foolishly thought that nothing could hurt more than what her father had done to her, nothing could burn stronger than pain and hate. But she _had_ found a bond stronger. One she could not realize until it was torn from her. Their reconciliation had only begun, could’ve gone further if only she’d set aside her hatred for something better. Like her sister had. 

_The terran is fortunate to have a chance to say goodbye. I hope he finds the right words._


End file.
